House of Lust

by Tony Roberts

  The point was here in this valley. At the western end a route ran to the Ister and one of the crossings into Valchia, and to the north, over the rim of the hills, there was easy access north and Zofela was only five days march away.

  Reports had come in of devastation and slaughter, but the Venn had troubles. Enraged Bragalese raiding parties had begun attacking outriders and suddenly the Venn commander had been blinded, unable to know what was out there. Mazag scouts had reported seeing bodies of Venn scouts stretched over rocks, their entrails ripped open, feeding carnivorous avians or beasts, and many of them hadn’t been dead when the feeding had begun.

  Vosgaris had grimaced at the news but the Mazag hierarchy had looked at him with respect. If Kastanians had managed to beat these people, then they were not as weak and foolish as believed.

  Vanist had turned to the Kastanian liaison officer, asking that word be put out to the Bragalese that the Mazag were here on invitation from Landwaster Koros to destroy the enemy and to protect the brave and gallant Bragalese, and that their men were not to be mistaken for the Venn.

  Vosgaris had complied, writing to Astiras, coding it so that Isbel would read his hidden message to her, vowing he would keep himself safe and hope they would see one another again soon.

  Now they were here, preparing to battle to the death. The Venn were in reality surrounded, for behind them there were, undoubtedly, Bragalese brigands and villagers awaiting their moment. Should the Venn emerge victorious today, they would still suffer sufficient losses to make them vulnerable to the brigands. Win or lose today, Venn would have to retreat back to Kral.

  The marching Mazag lines reached the bottom of the hill and stopped. Vosgaris halted, too, amazed. This was the worst possible spot to stop. Why? There came a barked command and the companies of archers stepped out in front and raised their bows. The sky was filled with arrows and the wooden shafts began falling amongst the enemy skirmish lines. Bodies fell, some rolling down almost to the bottom of the hill they were on.

  The Venn crossbowmen and archers now began to loose, and having the advantage of height, could shoot further. Men began falling on both sides. However, the superior number of Mazag archers was telling, and their rate of shot exceeded that of the slow-loading crossbowmen, and it was clear that the Venn were losing the exchange.

  There came a trumpet blast, and on either flank the heavy cavalry of Venn stirred into life. The Kastanian officer drew in his breath; if the Mazag flanks crumbled, then Vanist’s entire command would be surrounded. He looked up to the general’s position, and he was waving his arm at the Mazag cavalry commanders.

  Mazag cavalry differed from the Venn in one respect; they were armed with javelins as well as swords, so they acted as skirmishers first before being able to melee as well as any heavily armoured unit. They just lacked the initial charge ability.

  The Mazag cavalry fanned out, covering the flanks with a cloud of equines, waiting for the arrival of their enemies. The ground shook to the thundering hoofs of the Venn cavalry, charging downhill, lances thrust forward, the riders encased in flat-topped helms that had eye slits and no other gap.

  The Mazag cavalry, easily identifiable with their conical helmets and nasal guards, wheeled about, hurling javelins as the Venn came at them hard, then turning and fleeing. Javelin after javelin came arcing through the air, cutting down many but more came on, determined to wipe out the foul and despised mounted nobility of Mazag society.

  Unable to flee in time, many of the Mazag cavalry were engulfed and suddenly it was every man for himself. The fight broke up into individual melees, screams of men and equines punctuating the clash of steel on steel. Men and their mounts fell, but more got sucked into the fight to the death.

  Another trumpet blast and Vanist sent in his spear companies on the flanks to assist his hard-pressed cavalry. Vosgaris chuckled. So the wily old canine Vanist had listened to him after all! The Mazag spearmen now waded into the melee and began spearing the immobile and fixed Venn cavalry, and the battle waved back and forth across the bottom of the valley. Spearmen fell amongst the mud, the blood and the fear. Slowly and surely the Venn cavalry were forced back.

  Now the Venn infantry came down the hill, belatedly hoping to rescue their wavering cavalry. The Mazag missile troops galloped back through the lines of spearmen and climbed the other slope, gaining enough height to be able to loose above the heads of their own men.

  Now the spearmen clashed, thrusting at one another, pushing, sweating, grunting, cursing. Butts were used to strike out, or to try to unbalance an opponent. Shields were shoved into faces, sides and arms. The lines writhed and recoiled like a huge slitherer. A heat haze rose from the battling men, body heat generated by the struggle, and the smell of unwashed bodies filled the air.

  Vosgaris slowly made his way across the slope towards Vanist’s command position. A guard went to stop him but Vanist signalled he could pass.

  “What do you think, Captain?” Lakush translated.

  “Brutal, General. There’s no love lost between the two of you, is there?”

  Vanist showed his teeth in a fierce smile. “No – I think it’s a shame you do own Bragal, for if we did, then we’d be at their throats constantly, showing these weaklings who was the superior out of the two. Look – they’ve already lost most of their cavalry and missile troops. I’ll send my axemen in now to chop them into firewood.”

  With that he waved to his flag signaller who raised the white flag with a black axe, and the two companies of Kral axemen advanced on the melee, their long two handed axes raised high, the sunlight glinting off the sharpened metal. They stepped into the battle, their terrible blades descending, and the Kastanian officer caught sight of men toppling minus their heads or forearms.

  The addition of the axemen pushed the Venn centre in and the lines began to part, the spearmen companies facing them panicking. Like a retreating wave, the Venn centre suddenly split away and turned to flee. With a roar the Mazag infantry poured into the breach, hacking left and right. Vanist pointed to his cavalry commander and nodded. Another order was barked out and the surviving Mazag cavalry rode out wide and began hurling what javelins they had left into the packed spear companies on the Venn flanks.

  The enemy force collapsed, men flinging away their weapons and fleeing wild-eyed. Vanist roared in glee. “Cut loose and kill as many as you can!”

  It was a slaughter. The Venn army ran as fast as they could uphill, their cavalry breaking loose but the infantry were not so fortunate. They were herded into a loose circle and pounced on from all sides. Men threw themselves to the ground and pleaded for mercy. The blood-soaked Mazag infantry and cavalry didn’t heed them, hacking them to pieces, turning the slopes into a bloody mess.

  Vosgaris turned away and grimaced. “We take prisoners, General.”

  “Hah! For what purpose? Kill them. Kill them all!”

  “Building our roads, digging in our mines, they may even join our armies. Replacements for those lost in battle are always welcome.”

  Vanist snorted in derision. “Soldiers who lose a battle are useless. Do not trust those who surrender and change sides, for they would do the same if they fought for your side. Kastanian armies really use prisoners in their armies?”

  “We used Bragalese rebels in our army outside Zofela, and we have had a history of using defeated people in our armies. It has served us well in the past.”

  “Pah! A policy of folly; it will bite you in the arse, mark my words.” Vanist surveyed the scene of carnage. Most of the Venn army lay broken all over the reddened slopes of the hill facing him. His army was picking over the corpses, taking anything of value. The general grunted in satisfaction. “Well, that’s their pox-ridden Army of Kral well and truly destroyed. I trust you learned something today, Captain?”

  “Yes, sir. Never take on a Mazag army.”

  Vanist threw back his head and roared in delight on hearing the translation. “Very good! I shall be sending news of this victory to
Branak. I trust you will be sending news to your emperor? Good, then in that case please extend my compliments to him. I hope he does not take insult at us returning to Valchia immediately, for I have been ordered to do so once this battle was won. My liege wants us back in our lands just in case another invasion comes elsewhere.”

  “I understand. How many did you lose today?”

  “I don’t know yet – the counting will take some time, but we lost half our cavalry. No matter, plenty more where they came from. Now, if you please, Captain, I must attend my army’s needs. Good day.”

  Vosgaris saluted and rode back to his tent, just over the hill behind the Mazag army. By tomorrow the Mazag army would be on their way back and he would have to report to Astiras at Zofela. It wasn’t something he was looking forward to.

  The ride back took him and his two aides two days. The battlefield had been left by the victors, the piles of dead Venn left where they had fallen, stripped and looted. The Mazag dead were buried in a large pit, dug by the few prisoners that had been taken. Once the dead Mazag had been laid to rest, each prisoner had been made to kneel by the side of the hole they’d dug, and on a command from Vanist, had been decapitated and their corpses arranged at the feet of their victors.

  Vosgaris had watched the pit being covered over by the weary soldiers, and with one last curt conversation, Vanist had ordered his troops to march off westwards, bound for the nearest crossing over the Ister.

  Even as the three Kastanians had walked their steeds off northwards, dark figures had been seen scurrying towards the field. Bragalese peasants, hoping to loot something someone had missed.

  The rain had come, washing away some of the grime from Vosgaris’ hands and face, but not from his mind. It had been a dirty battle, with neither side showing any mercy or pity. Come the day Kastania fought one of these alone, it would be a real test of their mettle.

  Zofela appeared on the horizon, now assuming a vaguely threatening posture, but that was merely the dread of having to face the emperor and his disapproval. He desperately wanted to see Isbel again, but that seemed a remote possibility. Therefore it was with a general air of despondency he entered through the western gate and finally dismounted. His two assistants would take care of all three beasts, and he was led up into the keep, his legs leaden, his heart pounding.

  He was shown into the Great Hall where Astiras was holding Court. Flanking him were scribes, guards and Pepil, a familiar look of haughty disapproval on his face. To one side was Isbel, looking thoughtfully at him, her expression strictly neutral. He wasn’t fooled, though. He knew she was as pleased to see him as he was her. To distract his attention from the empress, he glared at Pepil, clutching the hilt of his sword threateningly. Pepil’s eyes followed the movement, and he sneered, but edged slightly closer to the side of Astiras nonetheless.

  “You will bow before the emperor,” Pepil said.

  Vosgaris did so, trying hard to keep the resentment from his posture. He waited until he got permission to rise. It did seem to be a longer wait than usual.

  “So, Captain, I understand that the Venn have been defeated. Your message was brief. Please tell me of the finer details.”

  Vosgaris gave his eye-witness account of the battle. The Venn army had been destroyed, the final body count had been sixteen hundred with perhaps two hundred managing to flee, but it was unlikely that they would get away from the vengeful Bragalese. In contrast, Vanist’s Army of Valchia had suffered under two hundred dead and a similar number wounded. He also gave his opinion of the respective strengths and weaknesses of both armies, and the Mazag attitude towards the Kastanians.

  Astiras rubbed his chin. “So, they see us as weak and deficient in military abilities. Very interesting. Long may they continue to do so. Captain, I thank you for your service. Your abilities are clearly wasted here as garrison commander. I am assigning you to Niake to take command of the imperial forces of Bathenia. You will formulate a plan to patrol the entire region and provide plans of what to do in the event of a Tybar invasion or raid. It will take some time to do this, and you will take over the military affairs of the region. Governor Extonos will retain full control and authority over civil matters, but he will be subordinate to you in all matters military.”

  Vosgaris shot a quick look at Isbel who was sat with her eyes shut. Astiras was intent on keeping the distance between them. The emperor leaned over and picked up a parchment sealed with the imperial mark from one of his courtiers and passed it to the captain. “These are your orders, and a similar order has been sent to the governor, so he will be expecting you to arrive shortly. By the time you get there your quarters should be ready. You have also been promoted to Commander and will be paid the salary appropriate to your rank. Congratulations, Commander.”

  Vosgaris took the scroll and bowed low, thanking Astiras. He would forego any promotion if it meant he could be with Isbel. His blood boiled. That kivok Pepil would suffer, he would see to it. “Sire is very generous,” he managed to say.

  “Now go prepare your belongings. You shall depart in the morning. Take anything of a personal matter that can be carried in your packs. Should you have anything bigger, then arrange it with the castellan upstairs and it shall be transported at a later date.”

  Vosgaris backed away and walked stiff-backed up the stairs, looking down once at the still head of Isbel. On his way up he almost collided with Istan. The boy, now eleven, looked almost like a miniature Astiras, another reason why Vosgaris disliked the boy.

  “Hah, I see you’re on your way to Niake. Good. The less I see of you the better.”

  “Majesty,” Vosgaris said with sarcasm and bowed just enough to avoid any accusation of disrespect.

  “It’s getting better here; all those I want away are going. You know I will one day be Governor of Bragal? I won’t want you here at all. I hate you, and if you’re stupid enough to step foot in Bragal when I’m governor, I may well have you arrested and thrown into the dungeons here. With luck, you’ll be locked up with my girl of a brother.”

  “Majesty is wise to give his humble servant such advice,” Vosgaris said dully. What could he say to such a difficult person as Istan? Best to be sarcastic and insincere. It was just about the only thing he could get away with.

  Istan stood before him, thumbs in his belt, sternly looking up at the stone-faced officer. He was lost for words for a moment, not having expected Vosgaris’ reply. “Hmm, yes, don’t forget I’m wise. I have not forgotten the beating you gave me in Kastan City, and I intend getting even for that. Stay a long way from me, Taboz.”

  “Sire will receive no trouble from me.”

  “You’d better not. Now be on your way. Captain Bevil is a better garrison commander than you – he knows not to make me angry.”

  Vosgaris bowed and watched as Istan strutted away. “Stupid little kroll,” he muttered, and resumed his journey. His room was as it had been before he’d gone, and he ran a hand over the still crumpled blankets. It had been here he’d made love to Isbel. His heart ached. Wanting something – or someone – and not being able to have one’s desire made the pain worse. He pulled out his pack from under his bed and morosely began to stuff his personal belongings, of which he had few, into it.

  He opened his personal chest and laid his various items of clothing upon his bed. He’d need a second pack. His eye caught sight of another object. A bag of dried leaves. He picked it up and weighed it in his hands. Metila had given him these, and the effect they had had on him in Turslenka came to mind. He briefly thought of how Isbel would react if she used them, and another zephyr of desire brushed momentarily across his mind. Smiling sadly, he put them in his pack and tied it firmly closed. He would take them with him to Niake, and maybe one day he might have the opportunity to try them out.

  Shutting his door behind him, he went to look for another pack. The armoury would have them. Guards acknowledged him and he nodded to them in response. He would miss the duties, but an emperor’s will was not one to de
fy. He would command three companies, from memory of what was posted there, who were regulars.

  Opportunities presented themselves only rarely and one suddenly came his way. On his route to the armoury the lone figure of Pepil appeared, clearly on his way to one of the offices back along the passageway.

  Vosgaris didn’t hesitate. His fist sank deep into the major domo’s gut and the man doubled up, retching. “If you and I ever meet alone again, you slime, I’m going to tear your tongue out and shove it up your arse.” Having delivered his message of greeting, the former imperial guard captain resumed his walk.

  Pepil thought he was going to part with his last meal, but through deep inhalations and extreme concentration, he managed to keep it down. A guard came along and saw him sitting against the passageway wall. An offer to help was rudely brushed aside and Pepil staggered to his feet, still gripping his stomach. He would get even for that. He painfully made his way to his offices.

  Isbel was there, having left the emperor’s side shortly before. She was to make sure the paperwork to transfer Vosgaris to Niake was properly delivered. A messenger was standing before her and she was giving him final instructions. He would not be the man to actually deliver the message; he would ride as far as Frasia and pass the document over to a relay man, and he in turn would do the same in Kastan city.

  As the messenger left with the document, Isbel saw Pepil gingerly make his way to his desk. “Problem, major domo?”

  The tone in her voice was not warm, but nonetheless she had to ensure everyone was in good health, and anyone showing signs of an ailment had to be checked. Pepil sucked in his breath. The blow still hurt and he was concerned maybe the punch had done some damage. It had been so sudden, so violent, and he had been unprepared for it. “That Captain Vosgaris assaulted me!” he gasped, holding his stomach.